surrender to the city of the fireflies
by Regal-Song
Summary: Instead of an embittered Evil Queen with a fixation on revenge, Regina is a tattered rocker with a sketchbook past. Her heart has been broken and her life is falling apart; tumbling down the neck of a bottle and clinging to a ghost.
1. Chapter 1

This story is set in an alternate universe, there's no magic or ogres or dark curses. There's just Regina, Vodka and ironic one-liners.

* * *

David followed the officer down the dimly lit corridor. The jangling of the man's keys with every step that he took, roused the overnight drunkards from their fitful slumber. Groans and moans could be heard from the dank cells on either side with iron bars, rusted over and flaking, dividing them from pre-dawn brawlers and gutter dwelling crack addicts.

As they rounded a corner his eyes met the uneven view of a scarred man in ripped overalls wearing a plaid shirt over broad biceps. The track marks beneath his rolled up sleeves were angry and raw and the bags under his eyes expressed the regrets of his late night high.

David rolled his eyes as they approached the only cell at the station that held a lone occupant. If he didn't know her as well as he did, he'd have thought the isolation overkill; but considering she was a woman - the only one currently residing at the seventy-seventh precinct's exclusive drunk tank - he figured it was likely for the best.

He also didn't want to have to deal with the outcome had she been saddled with a roommate she decided not to like.

Stepping around the police officer who had stopped directly in front of the iron bars, David released a sigh. Against the wrought-iron crossbar, a petite pair of textured leather, size six stiletto boots perched comfortably against the bars; the nine inch heel poking out from the confines of the cell.

Attached to the boots at her ankle, was a long pair of toned calves clad in torn, wet-look black skinny-jeans on the hips of the sleeping woman. Her dark hair was splayed out against the pinstripe pillow and her studded leather jacket with the torn right sleeve was rested over her for warmth. She was on her back, mouth open and every now and then she released the faintest snort.

It was David's way of knowing she was out cold.

He cleared his throat, meeting the officer's eye when the woman beyond the bars didn't so much as flinch at the sound.

"Reg," He called and she shuffled, repositioning her feet, crossing them over the opposite way before shuffling back against her pillow. She never opened her eyes.

With an annoyed growl under his breath he gave her boots a forceful shove, knocking them from the bars and in turn, rolling her off the small bunk. She let out a loud yelp as she hit the floor, thankfully landing on her jacket that did little to soften the blow but to prevent the cold concrete from impacting her bare skin.

"What was that for?" She grumbled, picking herself up, scratching at the back of her head.

Her hair was a mess, teased and brittle from re-application of an unnecessary amount of hairspray. Her over-sized Rolling Stones tank-top hung low off one shoulder, exposing the strap of her burgundy bra and a long chain fell around her neck that held a heavy, antique silver locket.

"That," He smirked. "Was for the phone call I get at seven am from the police stating that you've been hauled in, for the third time this month." His eyes progressively narrowed as his clenched fists raised to rest on his hips. "Indecent exposure, Regina," He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"There was nothing indecent about it." She grumbled, resting her arms on the bars.

David rolled his eyes.

"Besides, the time isn't my fault. You're my emergency contact," She shrugged, standing up straight and meeting his eye. When her head tilted up - with an obnoxious ray of sunlight striking her deep auburn eyes - she squinted and he could see the dark patches of her smeared eyeshadow. "There wasn't an option on the form to select a time of day for the call to take place."

He watched her as she gingerly tugged her jacket on, pulling it straight as she avoided further contact with the early morning sunlight.

"Come on," He said in a softer, gentler tone. "I've got your bail, lets get out of here."

"Thank you, officer." She smiled sweetly at the man as he slid the bars aside but turned her glare to David when he grasped her upper arm gruffly and tugged her toward the hall.

"This is getting ridiculous, Regina." He hissed, referring to her current predicament and the fact that he was up at an ungodly hour, sporting loafers, a pair of worn sweat pants and a university hoodie that had a hole in the right armpit he could fit three fingers through.

"Oh get off your high horse, _Prince Charming._" She spat, reefing her arm free and storming ahead of him. The sound of her heels heading from concrete to faded linoleum only halted when she stopped to collect her things.

When her overstuffed handbag was handed to her over the counter, the first thing she did was dig for a packet of cigarettes. He studied her as she smacked the base of the packet against her palm, knocking out a smoke and lifting it to hold between her plump lips; the lipstick worn down to a faint line of ruby red at the corners of her mouth.

"You coming, or what?" She spoke around the cigarette, shoving the forms back across the counter to the awaiting clerk without even looking at what she was signing.

She'd been there so many times, he was fairly certain she could quote the sign-out sheet in her sleep; on a few occasions, when she was really drunk and flaked out on his couch, he was somewhat certain that she had.

"You know, Mary's going to have my hide for bailing you out again." He commented, holding the door for her as they stepped out of the building; looking at her out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she shoved a pair of sunglasses over her protesting eyes before lighting up her cigarette.

"You know what," She blew a puff of smoke in his face. David just rolled his eyes and fanned the cloud of acrid poison away. "Your little goodie two shoes girlfriend can kiss my ass, David."

David let out a long breath, clenching his teeth to prevent himself from leaping to Mary-Margaret's defence. He knew the two women had their issues and he knew, as long as one remained the love of his life and the other, his best friend; he was going to be trapped right in the middle of their little feud. It was better for his sanity to say nothing.

Neither of them had ever told him what it was that had sparked the hate they had for each other, but he knew that Regina's bitterness was laced with malice, whilst Mary's was weighed down with an almost tangible guilt.

"Where is the little princess, anyway?" She released another long drag of smoke, picking at a fleck of tobacco that came free of the filter, from the edge of her lip. Asking the question even though he knew she didn't care for the answer.

"She's at her Dad's," He started and noticed how Regina's shoulders visibly stilled. She didn't stop walking, but her posture had gone rigid and the hand that raised her cigarette to her lips shook just slightly.

"Right," Her voice croaked and David put it down to spending half the night in a dusty cell, warmed to her bones by two-thirds of a bottle of vodka chased by an innumerable number of Jaeger bombs. Not to mention that the crowd the previous night had actually called for the rarity of an encore, leaving her hoarse even before she'd started on the shots.

"The car's this way," He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb; back to the carpark with the keys dangling from his hand as she started to head in the opposite direction.

"I think i'll walk," She waved her hand over her head, not looking back. "Thanks for the bail-out."

"Your place is over a mile away." He shouted after her but Regina ignored him, setting out along the pavement, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake.

* * *

"Do you think she's gonna show tonight?" Emma asked, hefting a crate of vodka bottles onto the scuffed wooden bar and looking across to Neal. His dark-rimmed eyes blinked, a thought passing through as he opened his mouth to respond.

"She'll be fine." David stated as he walked past, effectively cutting off any response Neal may have had.

"You don't know that." Emma shared a look with Neal before racing off after David. "How many nights has it been? Three, four? She's getting more and more unreliable."

"She'll be here."

"Last night was a fluke, David." Emma grumbled. "The fact that she didn't stuff up the lyrics was also a fucking blessing," She tilted her head. "The vodka bottle on the stage was a bit of a let down, but come on."

David didn't mention that he'd spent the morning at the police station, talking the cops out of hitting Regina up for repeat offence charges. He knew she was on her last legs as far as Emma and Mary were concerned and admitting he'd bailed the woman out yet again, was not going to go very far towards clearing her reputation.

"She's going through a lot."

"Of alcohol." She groused and David narrowed his eyes down at her.

"What do you want me to do, Emma? I know you two don't get along all that well, and I know you hate to admit it, but she's the one they come to see."

Emma rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her lip almost petulantly, looking away from him like he was her father, scolding her for speaking out of turn.

"She's spiralling out of control."

David released a long breath. "She's had a lot on her plate, this will pass."

"Before or after you find her dead in her living room, face-down in her own vomit?" She looked at him in askance and David released a sigh.

"It won't come to that."

"Yeah, well, you'd better hope it doesn't because I'm pretty sure this whole thing you've got going on where you insist on holding Regina's hand for everything is eventually going to tire Mary out."

David narrowed his eyes. "Has she said something to you?"

"No," Emma tilted her chin up, defiantly. "But it's obvious, David, you're eventually going to have to choose and we both know, if Regina doesn't clean up her act, the one who's really going to suffer, is you."

Emma stormed off, kicking over a broken light fixture with her heavy, heeled boot as she headed back towards the bar.

David slumped down on an overturned milk-crate, dropping his shoulders and scrubbing a hand over his face as though the weight was starting to finally get to him, weighing him down to the ground with the struggles of keeping both Regina and his own relationship, afloat.

Emma was right, he knew that; but he couldn't help but feel Regina needed more time. Ever since they were kids, banging drums in her foster parents garage, he'd known Regina was an emotional person; but she always wanted for love.

Since high school she'd talked a tough game, her dark makeup a poor mask for a sadness more potent than he could imagine. When she'd found Daniel, he thought that it was finally her chance to be happy - to kick aside the scars of her youth and finally be able to really smile.

The only times he'd ever seen pure joy in her eyes was when she was singing; or when she was looking at Daniel.

He'd held her to his chest, his broad hand tangled in her hair as she'd sobbed, smelling of her foster father's christmas scotch with tracks of mascara pouring down her face. He'd wrapped her in his coat, guarding her from the chill as they'd lowered Daniel's body into the ground.

She didn't talk about that night; she didn't talk about Daniel at all. But David knew Regina and he knew that she was hurting. It may have been over a year but he still felt the stab of pain in his heart when he looked into her eyes to see they were empty.

Empty, hollow and cold.

He knew she was still in there, somewhere; he could still see that same old beauty in her when she sang the old songs. Her eyes would light up like she'd slipped back in time, taking her heart to a place where it wasn't so irrevocably broken.

He was the last person in the world capable of telling her it was time to move on, but he feared he was the only one that could.

* * *

Killian dragged himself and his duffle out of the taxi, carefully counting out the fare dollar for dollar and tossing each note onto the passenger seat. The driver gave him a narrow glare, clearly sporting for his tip; when none was forthcoming he cursed the frugality of the Irish under his breath and pulled away from the curb with a screech of burning rubber on asphalt.

Killian flipped the man two fingers, screwing up his nose as the car peeled around the corner. Dropping his bag to the ground at his feet, he looked around for the best spot to find an inexpensive place to sleep; but seeing there was a club far closer to him than the nearest motel - it's glowing vacancy sign standing tall at least three blocks away - he tossed his duffle over his shoulder and decided he'd start first with a pint.

With his drumsticks in his back pocket and his duffle over his shoulder, Killian looked up at the facade of the old building; the old red bricks were scored and flaking. What little of the render that still remained was riddled with cracks, chips and stained orange from the rusting downpipes.

The sign that ran down the front of the building, glittering with the glow of it's curious title, flickered on the letter A, alternating between 'The Carlyle' and 'The C rlyle'. He smirked, turning his eyes to the fire exit just to the side of the building, jutting out over the alley.

He could hear voices filtering down; they were angry, shouting back and forth with gestures so sweeping he thought the woman was about to go flying over the rail with how hard she was waving her arms. The man just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, silent as a church mouse as he took the verbal tirade.

Killian tilted his head, curious, but decided to spare the couple their dignity and gift his rumbling stomach with a stout ale and a packet of crisps. He would have liked a hot meal, but with his budget being what it was, the choice between beer quality and nutritional appetisers was a no-brainer.

He was met at the door by a pretty brunette, her long hair was curled at the ends and her shorts riding so high on her fishnet-clad thighs he wasn't sure they counted as shorts. Everything she wore was red, from her makeup to her tank-top to those leather shorts. She added almost a foot to her height with platformed stilettos but even though she wasn't his type, he smiled broadly in her direction, thanking her for taking his duffle and exchanging it with a pre-loved ticket stub.

"Welcome to Neverland," She smirked, fluttering her lashes as he stepped past her.

"Thanks," He muttered, winking his eye and continuing on into the club.

* * *

"Regina, we're on in five." David called through the door of the dressing room. Regina barely looked up from her toes, perched on the edge of the coffee table where a pile of small aluminium foil squares sat stacked on each other beside a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff. Setting his eyes on the display, he signed. "Really?"

"Who are you, my mother?" She slurred, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Can you even go on in this state?"

Regina pulled herself to her feet, bumping the table with her shin as she pushed past it. One of the untouched baggies spilled onto the floor, leaving a faint dusting of the stark white powder. She didn't notice, staggering past David in shoes a lesser woman would have already twisted her ankle in, with a slap to his shoulder.

"I'm fine." She promised, patting him once again for good measure before heading out into the hall. David just sighed, letting his shoulders sag. He surveyed the room with his eyes; her clothes were everywhere. Shoes were scattered across the floor with the remnants of cracked pistachio shells, some M&Ms ground into the carpet and the contents of her handbag half buried under the small sofa.

Her cigarettes, vodka and an old credit card lay in the wasteland of white powder on the glass table top and her favourite leather jacket was dangling off the back of her chair. The place was a mess and it made his heart sink.

* * *

"Pint o' lager please." Killian grinned over the bar, winking his eye at the lean blonde in the tight button down black vest, setting a shot of absinthe alight on the edge of the bar.

"Sure," She responded over the din, grabbing the customer's money off the counter before heading his way. "You're Irish, right?" She questioned as she pulled on the lager tap, not even bothering to look into the glass. Killian's eyebrows rose, impressed, as she pulled the entire pint without breaking eye contact, bouncing on her heels proudly as she slid the glass across the counter.

"Thanks," He scratched his cheek. "And yeah, born and raised."

"Hot."

"I'm Killian."

"Emma." She held her hand out to shake and Killian took it, glancing over her shoulder as he noticed the small sign written in chalk behind the bar.

"You've got open mic night?"

"Wednesdays and Sundays." She nodded. "You sing?"

"No," He chuckled, reaching behind himself to drag his drumsticks from his back pocket and strum them on the bar. "But I play."

"Maybe you should come back on Sunday then," She smirked. "Tonight's all about the Royals, so you'll have to wait in line."

"The Royals?" He questioned, watching her long blonde ponytail bob as she dashed towards the other end of the bar to serve a customer before heading back towards him with a wicked turn of her lip.

"Yeah, they're local legends really. Almost hit it big a few months ago," She met his eye for a moment, seemingly stopping herself from carrying the story too far. She cleared her throat, glancing away from him before looking him in the eye again. "you should really hang around for a listen, they're pretty good."

"Perhaps I will."

Emma smirked, watching him tapping his drumsticks on the edge of the bar, against the beat of the music currently playing. "Who knows," She grinned. "they're looking for a new drummer, if you're good."

"Who knows indeed, love."

Killian spun around on his stool, continuing the made-up beat against his outer thighs as he watched the crowds shuffling in. The bar crammed for a time, shouts hollering over the top of shouts as the blonde and her colleague - a broad shouldered man who touched her hips with familiarity as they passed each other in the tight space - filled orders in every direction.

Drinks were carried onto the narrow dance-floor, and arms were raised to the ceiling as the music came to an abrupt halt and the club was shrouded in darkness.

Killian's eyes closed with rapture the moment her voice came out over the sound system. The club remained in darkness but it didn't matter all that much to him as he listened, taken in completely by the first few bars.

It sounded like salted caramel, sweet and sultry, but strong. The sound coiled in the back of her throat, swirling like dragons fire, before she let each sound free, one by one; one burn would heal before another note would char his skin.

The lights erupted and his eyes shot open, resting on the posed woman stage centre; a strum of the electric guitar, two shots of fireworks that fizzled by the side of the stage. By the looks of the place, he could see they were lucky to afford even that, but the quality of her voice wasn't tainted by the lack of fanfare.

There was another pause, a bar of silence as she stood with her eyes cast down. She was a vision in black leather, buckles and the faintest touch of a lilac bra beneath her oversized tank-top, featuring 'The Clash' for one night only'.

He could see the tattoo against her ribcage but he couldn't see what it was. As she jumped to the beat of the music, singing to the adoring crowd of writhing bodies, undulating like a tide, he could feel the slow burn crawl up his neck.

A heeled boot, impossibly high, pressed to the top of a stage level speaker as she threw her head back, her body arching with the strength of her voice, her mic cord resting on the swell of her breast as he watched the smooth lines of her throat struck by the force of the spotlight. She tapped at the mic, each finger adorned with heavy silver rings, tapping along to the beat to keep her in time.

She strutted across the stage and Killian was mesmerised. He'd halted his strumming long ago, holding his drumsticks still against his thighs as she paraded across the narrow stage to the tune of a reworked Stones classic. She bounced at the centre, encouraging the crowd to copy her movements as she did Mick Jagger far more justice than he did himself.

When she disappeared from the stage after three sets and a brief call back, he felt a piece of his heart was lost. He tried to grasp for it, clenching his fist against the open edges of his plaid shirt, clinging to the long silver chain that rested there. But it was no use. An emptiness had overcome him in the brief pause between her band's departure and the sound of the DJ coming back to close out the night.

"The Royals," Emma stated as he turned back around, mouth still partly hanging open. "Told you they were pretty good."

Killian blinked up at her. "What is her name?"

"Who, the lead?" Emma eyed him, continuing to scrub a glass with a tea towel. "You don't want to know."

"I think I do."

"She's more work than she looks."

"Please just tell me."

Emma sighed, resting the glass down on the counter with a brief expression that he couldn't quite place. She was about to open her mouth to answer, when her attention was stolen over his left shoulder; her eyes blinking wide as though she'd been caught in the act of something deplorable.

"Regina, Hi." She greeted; her tone overcompensating for the fact the woman they had just been talking about, currently had her chest pressed to his shoulder in the loud, crowded club. Killian studied her profile as her dark eyes surveyed the blonde with suspicion.

"One." Was all she said, raising her finger that was decorated with the elaborate head of an elephant, to emphasise her request.

Emma rolled her eyes. "You already had one, Regina."

"Don't piss me off, Swan." She growled and Killian could feel the vibration like a cat's purr, where her sternum pressed into his shoulder.

"Just give it to her, babe," The other bar tender, the man with the broad arms and grabby hands, made a reappearance. "David's out back, he'll make sure she doesn't go through the whole thing, right Regina?"

As he spoke, Emma pulled a full bottle of vodka from below the counter, setting it on the bar with unnecessary force. Regina waited, eyeing the pair, until she had her lean fingers - painted with harsh black polish - wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

"Nice to know you two lightweights care for my continued good health," She sneered and Killian could tell the comment was anything but sincere. "But David can kiss my ass." She said with venom before dragging the bottle from the bar and turning on her heel.

"She's beautiful." Killian sighed and Emma's companion let out a snort of laughter.

"If raging alcoholics with anger management issues are your thing, she's totally hot." He chuckled, wandering off down the bar to serve a waving customer. Emma sighed, meeting Killian's eye with a gentleness that mirrored her softer tone.

"Neal's not wrong, but Regina's not so bad," She sighed. "She does have some issues and it's not really my place to say, but she has a good heart, under all that," She paused, gesturing with her hands, searching for just the right word. "aggression."

Killian continued to watch the woman as she tripped on her own foot, pushing past the heavy velvet curtain and disappearing behind the stage. He looked back to Emma, his eyes pleading.

"I need to talk to her."

"Seriously, now is not the best time."

"Come on," He whined but Emma shook her head.

"David would never go for having you back there and Regina's not gonna come out again tonight."

"Who's David, her boyfriend?"

She scrunched up her nose. "More like a big brother. He was the guy on bass," Emma looked at him sympathetically, resting her elbows on the bar. "He's crazy protective. You should wait for Sunday. She'll be here."

Killian sighed dejectedly, resting his empty glass on the counter and watching it go as Emma picked it up and rested it in the sink.

"Get some sleep, go out, see the city and come back on Sunday."

"Know any good places to sleep?"

"What's your budget?" She smirked.

Killian turned his pockets inside out, counting out his notes and coins with a frown. "Twenty five bucks and a linty Oreo."

Emma chuckled. "Granny's, over on ninth. Tell her I sent you."

"How do I get there?"

"Three blocks, turn right; you'll know it when you see it."

* * *

To Be Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

**In regards to shipping questions:** I won't be stating categorically what ship this story will end up being because I am trying to show respect and do justice to all three ships listed on this fic (also, I see answering questions of that nature like reading the last page of a book before you start and I won't ever do that). I love Hooked Queen, Evil Charming and Outlaw Queen and I wanted to do a story where each of those ships is given it's proper weight, importance and respect. It is not a love triangle and not a single one of these men will be discarded without care. Please, if you're enjoying this story, enjoy it on it's merits and I hope you can stick with it and appreciate the story I'm telling.

**Side note:** I've also never written smut before. So here we go with this little social experiment.

* * *

"David, I'm ready to go." Mary-Margaret called through the open door. David was sitting across from Regina, doing his best to snatch the bottle of vodka from her vice-like grip but she wouldn't budge, instead, pressing the sole of her boot to his chest and pushing back against the sofa.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"

David looked up at her. "I'll just be a sec."

"Well, I'm leaving so if you want to stay with Regina tonight, be my guest, but the door will be locked when you get home."

"Mary!" He whined and Regina made kissy faces from her spot, reclining so far back in the sofa her chin was on her chest and a broad grin had spread on her face.

"Better run David, or you'll be sleeping with Pongo." She mocked and David made another grab for the bottle as Regina raised it to her lips. The mention of his neighbour's dog earning her an eyeroll.

"Come on, Regina, give it to me."

"Bye David, night Succubus." Mary waved over her head, disappearing out the door.

"Night," Regina struggled for an appropriate comeback, opening and closing her mouth with indignation before settling for taking yet another swig of straight vodka.

"Mary, wait!" David called but she kept walking, her floral skater dress clashing against the dingy walls with the peeling wallpaper.

"I'll be fine, David." Regina spoke gently, her voice far more serious than he often heard her, especially when she was in this state. He turned to look in her eyes, sucking in his bottom lip with worry before he quickly stood up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go on," She waved her hand nonchalantly. "I'll be fine."

"You'll go straight home, no detours?"

Regina fluttered her eyelashes innocently as she nodded her head. "I promise." Her voice sounded far too saccharinely sweet to be genuine and David paused, watching her out of the corner of his eye before he patted her knee affectionately, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Just be good, okay."

"Yes, Daddy." She mocked and David sighed before grabbing his coat and chasing after Mary-Margaret.

* * *

Killian sat on the front stoop of the kitsch building, emblazoned with the lop-sided insignia of 'Granny's B&B'. The same girl he'd met, doused from head to toe in Ruby Red, had greeted him at the door with a broad smile and a wink of her eye. He'd established her name as Ruby - apt, he thought, considering her attire - who was the granddaughter of the landlady; a harsh-faced older woman with a stiff bun on the back of her head and a long gold chain fastening her reading glasses around her neck.

He was given a room facing the train-tracks that rattled for five minutes when a twenty-four car cargo train barrelled by. But, with a genuine smile, Ruby insisted the room had the most reliable shower and so he took it - and the offer of holding the room on credit until he could find work - with a nod of his head and genuine thanks.

He swiped his lighter up and down the palm of his hand, flicking it open and igniting the flame before slapping it shut again. A cigarette hung from his lip but he hadn't yet lit it, too busy lost in his thoughts of the dark-haired beauty he'd seen on the stage.

The world was quieter there, sitting on the stoop with his heavy boots set wide apart on the lower step. He raised the lighter to his lips, finally about to light up his cigarette when he heard the screech of breaks just a few metres down the road. Obscured by the high, unkept hedges, he couldn't see what the commotion was about but with the bright yellow fender poking through the thick foliage, he could deduce it was a taxi prematurely offloading an obnoxious fare.

Killian stuffed his unlit cigarette and his lighter in the pocket of his leather jacket as he jogged down the steps, heading straight down the garden path to the street. What he saw when he rounded the hedge made him chuckle, smirking as he rolled on the balls of his feet.

"I didn't light it in your taxi, you bastard, it's not even lit!" She shrieked at the driver who sat, eyes ahead and unwilling to hear her complaints. "God damnit!" She cried, tossing her handbag out the open door as Killian slowly strolled towards her, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

He watched her struggling to light up a smoke, missing the mark entirely on the first few attempts and nearly searing the deep black polish straight off her fingernail. "Fuck," She grumbled under her breath with one heeled boot securely on the pavement, the other still inside the taxi and her eyes set on the contents of her bag, spilled across the concrete.

"Don't think I'm paying you, you prejudiced asshole." The scathing remark had Killian's eyes jump to the driver for a moment before looking back to her. She was clearly drunk and quite possibly high - on what, he couldn't know - but she wasn't so far gone that she was being entirely unreasonable; obnoxious perhaps, but he could see the driver wasn't in the mood to be patient for someone like her.

"Regina, wasn't it?" Killian moved to stand in front of her, ensuring his boots were in her line of sight as she dropped from the taxi and started gathering her things together.

"Maybe," She mumbled as she checked her phone screen was still intact, took a drag of her cigarette and continued stuffing makeup and various things back into her bag.

Killian pulled a few notes from his pocket - his last twenty dollars - and tossed it on the front seat of the cab. "I suggest you head off, mate." He gestured with his thumb and the taxi driver gave him a brief look of contempt before he peeled away from the curb.

"What'd you do?" Killian asked, as he attempted to help her pick up her things.

"Nothing," She spat. "The bastard called me a stupid, drunk, spic and you expect that I did something?"

"No," Killian said gently as he watched her so near to tears, shoving CDs, jewellery and a thick, well-loved, purple diary back into her bag. "I'm sorry, I was just making conversation."

"Wrong tact," She grumbled, still avoiding looking up at him at all. "I'm Latina, anyway, that ignorant dick."

Killian frowned. "Where do you live?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I'm just wondering if I should call you another cab."

"I can walk, thank you." She struggled to her feet, stumbling on her heels for a moment and dropping the cigarette from her lips "Fuck". It hit the concrete with a spark, tumbling away from her. Killian watched it roll for a moment before turning back to her to see she was already digging through her bag for another.

"Do you want to sit with me for a bit to calm down?" For the first time since she tumbled out of the cab, she looked up at him. She studied him for a moment, with her dark brown eyes set on the ocean blue of his own as she blinked.

"What do you care?"

"Irish hospitality, love." He winked. She hesitated for a moment before nodding her head lightly and following him back to the stoop. She gingerly sat down, smiling nervously around her cigarette as he offered her his lighter.

"Thanks," She spoke softly, dragging a half-empty bottle of vodka from what seemed to be an entirely bottomless handbag. "Want some?"

"It's not Rum, but what the hell." He took the bottle and took a long swig before handing it back to her.

"So what is a fresh-off-the-boat irishman doing camped out on Granny's lawn?" Regina questioned, raising the bottle back to her own lips. He couldn't help but notice the long, black lashes framing beautiful, dark chestnut eyes or the way her full, burgundy lips caressed the mouth of the bottle. Her nose was rounded but delicate and the line of her jaw was square but not sharp. She had a gentle profile, when she was calm like this; quietly looking straight out towards the empty street.

"You know Mrs Lucas?" He frowned.

Regina nodded. "It's a small town," Killian gave her a look and for a moment he thought she was actually going to chuckle; they both knew Los Angeles was anything but a small town. "She's also Ruby's gran and she's probably one of the few people in this town that doesn't think I'm a lost cause."

"Your friends seemed pretty adamant about that guy appreciating your qualities."

"David?" She eyed him and Killian shrugged.

"He's biased."

"Ex-boyfriend?" Killian smirked but it fell away when her eyes dropped to her toes and her voice fell quiet.

"Ex-husband."

The pair fell silent; nothing could be heard but the faint sound of traffic and a siren where the quiet street they were sitting on, met with the boulevard. Regina continued to study her toes and Killian found a fascination in the studded boots as well, if only to wait patiently on her to breech the tension. When he realised that a continuation of the conversation was not forthcoming on her end, he cleared his throat.

"I wanted a change," He shrugged, looking away. "Things aren't great back home, in more ways than one."

"That's fair enough."

They fell into silence again, sharing the bottle and staring up at the stars. Killian tried to avoid gazing at her because he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But the night was balmy and when she slipped off her leather jacket, he found it hard to look away.

Her arms were toned but not muscly; for a rocker with identity issues, she had quite the profile. He curled his fingers in on themselves down by his hip, repressing the compulsion to pull the strap of her tank-top aside so that he could study the detail of the tattoo he could barely make out. He was sure that just by the underwire of her bra there was a rose, but he could also see the stem of an apple and he found himself curious to learn how far down her ribs the artwork went.

He found himself cataloging her tattoos, wanting desperately to touch his fingertips to the dark red rose on the inside of her left forearm or the delicate feather on the inside of her right wrist.

He glanced down at his own forearm, seeing the edges of his own regrets poking out from beneath his rolled up sleeve. He didn't regret the artwork, like he'd never regretted any of his tattoos; they were footprints on his life. What he did regret was how things had ended with him and the woman who's face and name were forever imprinted on his flesh.

He loved her and he probably always would. But that love would never be enough to forget what she'd done to him. So he wore it with pride to remember, that he'd loved and lost and that he was strong enough to do it again were he to be given the chance.

"Do they have stories?" He questioned and Regina flinched, looking up into his eyes. She blinked for a moment, unsure of the question before she realised he was looking down at her wrist.

"They do."

"Will you tell me?"

"No." Regina cleared her throat, pressing her palm to the step to raise herself to her feet. "I should go."

"Stay." He said suddenly and quietly, looking up at her from where he continued to sit. Regina stopped moving and studied him closely, shaking her head before looking out to the street. "You don't want that."

"Maybe I do."

"Right now, I'm nothing but Vodka."

"Then stay with me until you're not."

Regina sighed, tilting her head up to the stars. "You don't want that either."

"Has anyone seen her, lately? The woman without the vodka." He enquired softly and watched as her shoulders raised and lowered with a deep sigh.

"No."

Regina flinched when she felt gentle hands against the cool skin of her shoulders, shivering under the callouses of a drummer. Her shoulders sagged, dropping her back against his chest as she closed her eyes, letting his face morph behind her eyes to that of a man she'd tried to forget. A man who had those same callouses in the same places, who touched her with that same tenderness.

"Stay." He breathed into her ear and she was just drunk enough to imagine the voice without the irish lilt. He smelled of Rum and cigarettes, but she blocked that out in favour of remembering Daniel's eyes.

"Okay," Her voice shuddered as his hands drifted down her arms; his fingers curling around her hand before dragging her back towards the door into Granny's. He held his finger to his lips as he lead her through the back door, tripped on the stairs without realising just how much vodka they'd consumed before the pair staggered through the squeaking door to his room.

He flicked the lock as she stumbled over her own foot, tripping against him and dragging her nails up his stomach in the dark, pulling his shirt up as a result. She grinned with her tongue sticking out between her teeth, tugging him towards her with fistfuls of his shirt. "Bed's over there..." He gestured.

"So," She smirked mischievously, gripping the back of his head through his thick raven hair and silencing him with a bruising kiss as she backed up to the rickety desk that sat against the window. With nimble hands he grasped her thighs, lifting her to sit on the desk. Regina didn't waste any time depriving him of his shirt; before he'd even tossed it over his head her lips were forming a ragged path across his toned chest and down the valley between the muscles of his stomach.

Killian gripped her head in both hands without concern for the state of her hair, ravishing her mouth before biting down on her lip; her small hands worked at his belt and then, in turn, the zipper on his jeans.

The small desk bumped against the window frame but neither cared. Regina's stretched and oversized tank-top tumbled out the open window and for a moment she paused, watching it tumble all the way to the grass below before she turned around frantically tugging at the buttons on her jeans. "Let me." He spoke calmly, resting his hands atop hers. She looked up, meeting his gentle eyes and for a moment, her mind was clear and she knew it wasn't him.

He seemed to see the moment, stilling his hands and waiting for her to make a decision. Regina's mind was foggy, her eyes drifted in and out of focus as she looked up at him. Their hands remained motionless as she looked deep into his blue eyes, feeling the pain well up inside her at the truth that the man within who's arms she sat, was not her Daniel.

With nails digging into his flesh, Killian hissed as she pulled him towards her, gripping his biceps and clawing her way back up to steal his breath with her full lips. He took that as his cue, pulling her to her feet he helped her tug her jeans off, letting her kick them aside along with her boots before he gripped her thighs again. His strong, rough fingers dug into supple, tan skin as he pulled her legs to wrap around his waist. Regina's arms went around his shoulder, clinging to him and he could feel the heel of her bare foot digging into the back of his thigh.

"Don't speak," She rasped with her nose bent against his cheek and her lips, pulling across his with teeth bared. She was breathless, feeling his deft fingers with those maddening callouses, tugging at the hem of her panties. "Get them off, but don't speak."

He knew the look in her eyes, that same longing he felt in his own heart; that the hands that touched her belonged to someone else. He knew what she was doing because he'd tried it before. She was trapped in there with him - whoever he was - and his heart, no matter how fogged from the alcohol, broke for her. "I can be him, if you need that."

"Shut up!" She growled, smothering his mouth in a feverish kiss, bumping her teeth against his. She clawed at his arms, pulling her slight frame closer to him as he unclasped her bra with one hand.

She threw her head back, resting her crown against the window frame as he left a trail of hot, wet kisses down her throat. He followed the line of her collar-bone with his lips and tongue, biting and soothing the red welts he was sure to leave with gentle kisses as he pulled the thin straps of her lilac bra down her arms and tossed it aside.

Regina hissed through gritted teeth, arching her back as he took her pert nipple into his mouth; sucking on it hard he let it go with a pop and the cool night air from the open window, hitting her taut, wet flesh, sent a chill right down to her core.

She was bare beneath him, her back arched and one hand pressed firmly to the wobbly old desk and the other holding tight to his neck. His strong arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her stomach firmly to his. She had one leg pulled up to his hip, her knee tucked in tight against his waist whilst the toes of her other foot struggled to touch the floor with each rock the desk took on it's unsteady foundations.

Killian still had his jeans on, un-zipped and hanging open with the elastic of his boxers peering up over his open fly. Regina slipped herself forward on the desk, the toes of both feet just barely touching the hideous floral carpet, rocking her hips to get closer to him as she tugged at his jeans and boxers in one.

He stole a kiss, tilting her head up to meet him with his hand at the back of her head, gripping a fistful of her hair; momentarily stealing her attention as he kicked his jeans and boxers away. On instinct, her small hands raised to his chest; dark nails drew eight red lines down across his muscles until they tangled in the course hairs that started at his belly-button.

Her breath hitched as his nails dug into her hips. He held on tight as she reached down between them, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as her small, strong hands, wrapped around him.

This wasn't a game to her, he knew; she wasn't in the mood to play or smile or let him bring her to tears of laughter into his shoulder. It was to be hard and fast and dare he think it, painful. It was to remember and to forget and he knew he should have stopped a million times over. But she held his cock in the palm of her hand; her cheek was pressed to his chin and her eyes hidden from him as she stroked him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he could feel the skin of his cheeks heating up with each stroke.

"Don't talk, please." Her voice was a whisper but he heard it all the same. She didn't want him to ask her if she was okay, she didn't want him to tell her she could stop if she wanted. She didn't want him to let her know that he was caring, more and more with every touch.

So he didn't talk. He dipped his head to press his lips to hers once more, smothering her gasp for breath as he pressed his thumb to her clit. Her hips bucked, thrusting into his hand and she let go of him, throwing her hands back to grip the window frame.

Their kisses became frantic and messy; he missed her mouth more than once as one hand played with her nipple and the other thrust two fingers inside her and caused her to squirm and thrash beneath him. "Now," She breathed against his earlobe, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "Now, please."

He held her in his broad hands, suspended over the small desk with a palm at her hip and one between her shoulder-blades as she guided him into her. She let out a long, shaky breath, biting down on his shoulder as he stilled inside her. "I'm okay," She shuddered. "I'm okay." She dug her teeth in harder as he started to move, licking her lips as he increased their pace and she threw her head back again.

The knocking of the desk against the window frame became almost rhythmic, banging in perfect contrast to the slap of hot, wet flesh. She could feel the heat burning beneath her skin, the friction of their bodies; of coarse hair against olive flesh igniting the fire low in her belly.

Killian tried to stifle her cries with kisses, but with each breath another escaped, muffled against his neck, his jaw, the undulating muscles of his broad bicep.

She raked her nails down his forearms before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him. The angle of his thrust changed with the movement and she gasped into his mouth; her legs shook and her toes curled and he grunted into her shoulder.

Regina buried her face in the crook of his neck as he rocked them; the heavy thumping hidden by the fortuitous passing of a cargo-train. He could feel the soft tendrils of her hair tickling his sweat dampened shoulder as her cries became more frequent and he could feel her walls tightening around him.

She was finding it harder and harder to control her legs; her knees twitching at his hips and her back, arching in his hands. Suddenly and without warning she cried out, gripping his biceps with iron talons as she rode out the wave of ecstasy intended to dampen the ache in her heart.

Her eyes glazed over for a moment; her tongue groggily running across her upper lip as she sunk back into the desk, sated and breathing heavily. He didn't let her go, though. Clinging to her desperately, he held her small frame tightly in his hands.

He could feel her fingers against the line of his hips, drawing absent circles across the prominent line of his muscles.

"Stay," He breathed, speaking for the first time since she'd begged him not to. Regina turned her eyes away, letting her hair fall in her face and fighting the hitch in her breath at the feeling of him slipping free of her. "Stay."

She didn't answer, but she let him hold her, keeping the warmth between them as a cool breeze broke through the window and the sheer, white curtains brushed against her shoulders.

To Be Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

I feel I should note that I work for a very large company that does it's main business over the Christmas period, hence why I've been rather silent of late (I've been working a lot). Heading into January, fic will be more frequent, I hope.

* * *

Killian woke slowly, blinking rapidly as the sun hit his face. He was sleeping with his face to the window, crediting Ruby with a faint smile as beams of golden sunlight crept across the carpet that was as hideous in the day as it had been the night before. The bed linen wasn't far better, improved only by the soft olive skin curled amongst the sheets beside him.

She groaned, covering her face with her forearm in order to remain asleep. No doubt she had a hangover as his own head wasn't entirely clear and she'd had far more to drink than he had. He watched her for a moment, waiting for her to wake but when she didn't - lying on her back with her upper half and one leg exposed above the sheets - he grinned.

Killian pulled himself up onto his elbow, smirking at the feeble attempt she'd made to shield her eyes and the adorable frown that creased her brow. He took the unguarded chance to study her from the top of her head to her toes, cataloging scars and tattoos and her near-invisible tan-line.

Beneath the arm she had raised to her head, he realised there was a thin line of text that ran from her armpit to her hip, across the strong ripples of her ribs. _"There's no such thing as happily ever after."_ Is what it read and he found himself looking to her face, wondering if it's what she truly believed or if it was the product of a heart broken one too many times.

He smirked, noticing that the roses and apples he'd seen the night before was an intricately detailed vine that covered the majority of her left rib, touching the curve beneath her breast and disappearing behind her shoulder.

He trailed his finger gently along a vine leaf, smiling as she squirmed away, ticklish under his touch. She didn't pull away and he took that as invitation to continue his ministrations. He followed the stem of the vine until it ended at the base of her ribs, letting his finger trace it's own pattern down, circling around her belly button, across her hip and down until his whole palm covered the heart she had inside an ornate crown on the front of her left thigh.

There was a ribbon across the crown within which there was a line of text that made his lips quirk.

_"Queen of nothing."_

His heart ached for her, wondering what part of her heart these images and words had stemmed from.

Regina's eyes fluttered open slightly, protesting against the bright sunlight that was streaming across the room, casting golden shadows across their bodies; soaking the stark white sheets in golds and yellows and warmth. For a brief moment she smiled at him; it was a soft, sated smile that touched her eyes and glittered before him like a star. He returned it, dropping his eyes to her lips for just a moment, wishing to kiss those lips just once more.

He followed the line of her throat down, catching a glimpse of the faint red marks that marred her flesh; a sure sign that the previous night hadn't been a dream. Her chest rose and fell, breathing deeply and uncaring of how she lay bare before him.

It was then that he saw it. Entirely unadorned and lacking in the fanfare and colour of the rest of her artwork, situated low on her sternum in the valley of her breasts and small enough to disappear beneath the wire of any bra she could wear, was the most unremarkable of tattoos. It was small, able to be covered by the pad of his thumb and consisted of a thin-lined love heart with a single name inside.

He looked into her eyes for a moment, attempting to read her expression but it was entirely blank. Her smile was gone, replaced with a blank, distant stare; building up to a wall that was about to shut down.

Never having been a man of tact, nor a master of thought before speech, he asked the question that lingered on his lips like a curse.

"Who's Henry?"

Regina's expression closed off. For the split-second between the moment she registered his question and her decision to flee, he saw the tears that welled in her eyes. He thought for a moment that Henry may have been the man she had envisioned the previous night; the man that in her mind, she'd been kissing instead of him. But her reaction was far too violent for the two men to be the same.

At the name she was scrambling from the bed, not even meeting his eye. "I have to go." She muttered, tugging on her jeans without even caring for the panties she couldn't even find. She pulled her bra on, remembering suddenly - with an eye at the window - that her shirt had tumbled to the first floor.

Killian tripped out of the bed after her, getting tangled in the sheets as he desperately tried to follow. "Regina, wait!" He called, stumbling over the sheet as he tried to pull on a pair of sweat pants, tripping down the stairs as she dashed away from him, clutching her handbag to cover her chest.

Granny was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for her guests and at the sound of thumping on the stairs she turned, with a spatula in her hand, just in time to see Regina stumble to the base of the stairs.

Regina froze where she was for a moment and the two women shared a look; in her eyes, Granny could see the pain she'd seen far too often in Regina's eyes. She knew it all too well. "Regina!" She shouted, dropping her spatula to the countertop as the young woman dashed for the front door.

Seconds later Killian came bumbling down the stairs, grasping for the front door to desperately chase after her. "Don't." Granny halted him with her strong hand on his bicep. He tried to shake free of her but she wouldn't release him; standing firm as they watched Regina dash around the outside of the house - her figure a blur past the windows - to where her shirt had fallen the night before. She ran back around to the front, grabbing her jacket from where she'd left it on the stoop. "Don't." Granny reiterated in a gentler tone, squeezing his arm to soothe him but Killian's eyes followed Regina until she disappeared from view.

* * *

"Where were you?" David asked as he walked out the back of the club, seeing Regina with her feet propped up on a mixing table, nursing a large mug of coffee, steaming in her lap.

The club was otherwise empty; Neal and Emma didn't open up until later in the afternoon, leaving the morning for David and the band, setting up and taking down equipment and on certain days, like that day, holding auditions for a new drummer. Mr Gold, the patron of the club and Neal's morally questionable father, had struck a deal with David - either they find a new drummer, or they find a new venue.

Regina had a distant look in her eyes - eyes that were rimmed red from crying - and David frowned down at the bottle sitting on the floor by the leg of her chair. He needed her sharp for their slew of interviews and he knew if she'd already started, his chances for keeping her sober were slim. "Really? Regina, it's barely lunchtime and that bottle's already half-full."

"I prefer to think of it as half empty." She groused, taking a sip of her spiked coffee, breathing in the vapors of the warm whiskey as she slouched down further in her chair.

"What happened?" He spoke gently, pulling a stool under him so that he could sit close to her, awaiting her answer. "I came by your place this morning, but you weren't there."

She wouldn't meet his eye as she lied. "I left early."

"Regina," His voice held a warning tone.

Regina sighed. "I was fine, David. I promise."

He reached up to grip her chin gently, guiding her face to turn to him and she knew the look in his eyes. It was the expression that asked her, with his heart out on his sleeve, to look him in the eye and tell him that. So she did.

"I kept safe." Oddly enough, she found herself believing the statement, for even in the moments the previous night where reality shone through and she met the sharp eyes of the dark-haired irishman, she hadn't been afraid. He wasn't Daniel - no one would ever be Daniel again - but he had tried, for her sake, to be as close as.

Waking in the sunlight with his eyes on her had been unexpectedly pleasant. She'd even thought for a moment, that there could be a chance she could get used to being scrutinised like that; adored for her scars. But the reality of it was too heavy and too much. At the sound of Henry's name it had been impossible not to break down, no matter how hard she tried.

"Then what is it?" David gently brushed a hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear and Regina sighed, leaning into his hand for just a moment. "You've been crying."

"Just a bad day, that's all."

"Reg,"

She sighed. "I," She swallowed and he could see the tears start to well in her eyes again. She pressed her lips tightly together, fighting it, but her throat constricted and her cheeks enflamed as she sobbed out the words. "I thought about Henry this morning."

David didn't waste a moment pulling her into his arms; Regina curled into a ball, pulling her legs up to her side as she wracked with painful sobs. She clung to him, practically crawling into his lap as he held her; arms tight like a vice so she'd know he wasn't about to drop her. He'd made that promise and he'd swore to himself that regardless of where their lives took them, the vow to always be there for her, was forever.

He soothed her, rubbing his hand up and down her back until the painful sobs became short whimpers muffled by his shirt. "It's alright, Regina." He smiled, kissing the top of her head. "It's alright to think about him."

"I can't do it without falling apart." She croaked. "It's been twelve years, David." She breathed heavily against his neck and he could feel the hot moisture of it, sending shivers down his back. "Will this pain ever go away?"

"I don't know," He spoke quietly and honestly, keeping his voice as level as he possibly could, even though he could feel his own composure starting to break. "I don't know if it can."

"So what do we do?"

He hugged her tighter, kissing her temple and soothing her hair with his broad hand. "We keep moving."

"Sometimes I just think of how beautiful he'd be, how smart," Her voice wavered. "He'd have been so smart, David, smarter than us."

"Smarter, more handsome, more talented." David agreed, his voice lowering to a whisper against her ear. "He'd have had the best of both of us."

"He did."

"Yes," David smiled against her ear. "He did."

* * *

David kept glancing in Regina's direction throughout the auditions. He knew she wanted to be there about as much as he did, but she was struggling to even feign attention as an ex-biker with a beer belly, wearing a shirt with Regina's face on it, beat the hell out of their drum kit with less finesse than a bull in a china shop.

It was in auditions like these, he was glad they had retired Daniel's set.

"Thank you," David nodded, scratching the man's name off the list as he smiled reassuringly. "We'll be in touch."

"Can I get an autograph, before I go?" The biker was six foot tall, had brick pillars for arms and was covered, from wrists to neck to ankles, in tattoos. His long, corkscrew beard had wisps of grey and the back of his bald head had two eyes, tattooed.

David looked to Regina, as the man looked to Regina, with hope in his eyes. He didn't want to piss the man off more than necessary. Perhaps if Regina could placate him with an autograph and a selfie, the blow of not getting the gig might not be as hard.

She continued to stare into space.

She was sitting with her legs propped up on a table, one straight and one bent. The wet-wash of her jeans reflected in the stage lights and the rest of her blended into the shadows. Lounging back in her chair, she had abandoned the coffee from earlier in the day and instead, cradled the almost empty bottle of whiskey against her stomach.

"Regina," David urged, but she didn't budge, lost in her own head. He turned his eyes back to the guy on stage, blinking up to see the burly man with an otherwise terrifying appearance, gushing at Regina. "I'll tell you what, she's not feeling great today. Come by the gig on Friday and you can have twenty minutes backstage to meet the whole band."

The tone-deaf biker beamed at him, jumping down from the stage to shake his hand before heading toward Regina who had turned her head up with a look of complete boredom. David diverted him, blocking his path gently and ushering him from the room.

Regina returned to staring into space.

"You've got to acknowledge some of them, Regina." David sighed and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Bring me one half as good as _he_ was and i'll acknowledge them."

David dropped back down to his chair with a huff, picking up his clipboard as he threw her a reproachful look. It didn't matter though, because Regina had pressed her eyes closed, drained the last mouthful from her bottle and let her head sag over the back of the chair.

"Next up, Killian Jones."

"Don't tell me if it's another groupie, I don't wanna know." Regina groused, keeping her eyes closed and her head back.

David's eyes lit up immediately when the man walked out on stage, dressed unimpressively in black jeans, a stretched black t-shirt and a black leather jacket. No sign at all that the man was a Royals groupie, which eased David's apprehension. Perhaps, finally, this was a real audition.

David watched as Killian Jones looked out towards them, seeing a smirk touch his lips as he looked to Regina. She'd kept her eyes closed; she had no knowledge of the man's appearance but for the sound of his shoes on the creaky stage.

"When you're ready." David urged and he inclined his head before taking a seat behind the drum kit.

Without a word, Killian dropped them right in the bridge of the set they'd played the previous night, when he'd seen Regina for the first time. She sat up suddenly, her back as straight as an iron rod as the sound touched her ears.

Her eyes blinked open with excitement; finally, someone who could actually play. David watched her, surprised, when the look of excitement quickly dropped from her eyes and she stood up to leave.

"Regina wait!" He called after her, grabbing her arm.

"Not him."

"But he's good, Reg, come on. If we don't find someone today, Gold's going to sever our deal."

"Not. him." She ground out, glancing over David's shoulder at the expectant Irishman who'd stopped playing so suddenly when she'd stood up.

"I want him."

"I don't."

"He's in."

"He's not." Regina glared but David didn't back down.

"No."

"Regina," He sighed.

"David, no. Not him."

"If I may interject..." Killian started, but David and Regina spun around at the exact same time, their voices in perfect sync as they answered in unison.

"No!"

"Right." Killian tapped his drumsticks against his leg, sheepishly averting his eyes to the floor.

"David, he's only going to be trouble."

"Why?" David squeezed her arm gently. "How do you know him?"

Regina's hackles grew in defence and she flinched, looking away from his eyes. "I don't."

"So what's your problem?"

Regina threw her arms up in frustration, storming from the room in her rage and shoving a stack of empty milk-crates to the ground in her anger. She didn't have an appropriate argument that wasn't going to lead David straight to the truth. That this man had effected her.

"So…" Killian shrugged, still sitting behind the drum kit with a perplexed look on his face as David turned back around to face him, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

"You're in."

"Won't she kill me in my sleep, or something, if you make that call?"

David chuckled. "I'll handle Regina. You're the best we've heard all day and Regina knows it. Five percent of the takings for each gig, be here at least a half hour early for rehearsals and I'll speak to Neal about getting you some work in the club."

Killian opened his mouth to respond but David cut him off.

"Emma may have already mentioned you were staying at Granny's with nothing but an Oreo to your name."

Killian smirked, pointing his drumstick at the man. "I'll have you know, I have five bucks to my name and the Oreo was breakfast."

* * *

"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" The voice so close to her ear startled her and she jumped away, her shoulder hitting the grafittied wall of the club in the dingy loading dock. "Bit jumpy too." He smirked and Regina rolled her eyes. Dropping her cigarette to the ground, she stomped on it without uttering a word, before she stormed back into the club.

"Come on, Regina, give me a chance."

"David may have picked you to join the band and you may have been the best drummer we've heard all day, but that doesn't mean I ever have to talk to you."

"What happened to the Regina from this morning?" He frowned, his voice soft and just hurt enough to get her attention. She stopped walking away from him, frozen on the spot in the shadow between two narrow down-lights in an otherwise dim corridor.

"What happened to the soft, gentle Regina that smiled in the sunlight and snorted in her sleep?"

Regina's resolve wavered for just a moment as she slowly turned around to meet his eye. "She made a mistake."

"Did I do something wrong?"

Regina turned her eyes to the floor, avoiding his.

"Because if I said the wrong thing, Regina, I apologise. I'm an idiot, and I say the wrong thing more often than not," He released a deep sigh with the smallest smile twisting his lips upward. "But last night, you have to admit, was pretty amazing."

"It can't happen again." She turned to leave but he grabbed her arm and Regina stopped there, starring at his hand.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want it."

"If that was true, you'd be able to look me in the eye when you said it."

"Doesn't matter," Regina pulled her arm from his hold, looking him square in the eye with an intensity that had him pulling back. "You don't want this."

"You can't know that."

"I do." She shrugged, taking a step back and slowly wrapping her arms around herself; retreating inside her shell. He'd seen a glimpse of her that morning; he'd seen the beautiful woman that was hidden behind all of that incredible pain and he'd wanted her. For that split second, when she'd smiled and the sun had warmed their skin, he'd wanted her more than he'd ever wanted a single thing in his whole life.

Regina gasped loudly, stumbling back into the stage door as he accosted her. Her head hit the plywood, their teeth chattered together as his lips pressed hungrily to hers. He expected her to push him off, to shove him back and to slap him in the face; but in an instant she was kissing him back, biting his lip, pulling his hair and tugging on his shirt until he could hear the stitching splitting.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his broad hands roaming the expanse of supple curves beneath weatherworn cotton and ripped denim. His fingernails found the stitching of her jeans at her thighs, scratching down the edges as she dragged herself up on her toes, breathing desperately through her nose as her full lips refused to release him.

"No," She quivered, struggling to push him away. They were both breathless and she couldn't bring herself to look at him as, with harsh, shuddering breaths, she held him at arms length.

"Regina, I…"

She cut him off with a soft voice, barely loud enough to make her stand. As she slipped out from between him and the door, making her way back down the hall. "No."

* * *

Regina sat with her feet dangling off the fire escape of her third storey apartment. The street below was bustling and the sound of bickering taxi's and pushy buses drowned out her nagging thoughts. Alone with her thoughts wasn't ever her favourite place to be which was why alone with vodka and silence always seemed so much more appealing.

She couldn't get his eyes out of her head. They were so bright, so blue and somehow, they were as damaged as her own. The thought pained her, because she knew there couldn't possibly be a way for them to help each other at all.

He was right. That night had been amazing and as she pressed her eyes closed and remembered the sun kissed morning, she realised how special it really had been. She hadn't even known his name; he was an irishman camped out on Granny's porch with a working lighter and a whole in the knee of his jeans. His near-raven hair stuck up in all directions and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. As deep as, as well, if she felt like being poetic.

She took a drag of her cigarette before pulling the cork out of a bottle of chardonnay she'd been keeping for a dinner party, with her teeth. It had been David's idea to have all the band around to her place, to prove she was still human. But having brought the Chardonnay and handed it to her with all but a knife at his back, she knew - by the choice of wine alone - that it was Mary's idea.

Regina took a long sip. "Bottom's up, Mary-Margaret." She toasted the sky and chuckled to herself when she didn't get a response.

"You know, it's one thing to get drunk in a group but to drown yourself in Chardonnay on your own is a bit sad."

"Get lost, David." She grumbled, refusing to turn around and look at him, standing in the middle of her living room with his hands in his pockets.

"I came to see how you were. I haven't seen you in nearly a week."

"I haven't missed a gig."

"You know what I mean."

"He's good, I'll admit that; wonderful addition to the group." She took another sip of the wine. "Doesn't mean I have to speak to him."

"And that means you stop speaking to me too?"

Regina shrugged her shoulders and David sighed. He let his eyes roam around her apartment. She didn't have any pictures on the walls, there was a piano in the far corner and a sofa with a tattered old blanket draped over the back. There was a stack of records sitting haphazardly in a pile next to her foster father's old record player and a small cactus she'd managed to murder through neglect.

The whole apartment smelled of cigarette smoke mixed with lavender, an odd combination that had him tilting his head at her back in confusion.

"Come on, you can't avoid him forever."

"I can."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"We slept together." She blurted out and for a second, David's eyes widened before his lips pulled in a gentle smile and his expression softened.

"I know."

Regina spun around, nearly knocking her bottle off the edge of the fire escape. "That rat-bastard!" She hissed, scrambling to her feet and tripping back through the window; she got her foot caught on the sill and stumbled against the couch before she could right herself.

"He didn't tell me, Regina."

"Then how did you…?"

She was looking up at him with wide, nervous eyes and he took pity on her, reaching out to grasp her hand as he guided her to the sofa. "We were together all through high school, we were married for three years and we've been friends for nearly twenty." He smirked, touching his knuckle to her cheek bone affectionately. "You think I don't know the face you get."

"What face?"

David's expression grew into a full grin and she could feel the laughter bubbling to the surface. "You know the face."

"I don't believe I do."

"Well," He cleared his throat. "Let me remind you." He repositioned himself on the sofa, pulling his leg up so that he could turn to face her, his eyes intense but the smirk on his lips betraying his mirth. "Two weeks before senior prom, you had some sort of fight with your foster mom and we drove up to the Hollywood sign. Just the two of us," Regina's cheeks were starting to burn and she averted her eyes, looking down at the foil wrapping around the neck of the bottle in her lap. "Wide back seat of an old Cadillac, a little bit of stolen beer, Heart playing on the radio…"

"Okay," Regina laughed, smacking at his chest to shut him up. "Okay, I get it."

"You had a different look when you were with me, with Daniel too."

"I don't love him."

"I know, it's not that face either," David looked down, fiddling with the edge of the tattered blanket. "but he likes you."

Regina shrugged. "I don't know, David. I'm in too many pieces," She met his eye. "And so's he."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"Or maybe it's the worst." She sighed. "The last thing I need is to end up with someone just like me." She dropped her head to the back of the sofa, starring up at the ceiling. David reached for her locket, resting it's weight in the palm of his hand before he flipped the latch open.

Inside was the tiniest wisp of soft, chestnut hair beside the image of a regal, beautiful woman and a man with a strong jaw and dark, warm eyes. "They'd want you to be happy, Regina."

"They'd want a lot of things, if they were alive."

"Regina,"

"That's just it, David. Everything i've ever had worth a damn has been taken from me. My parents," She snapped the locket shut and opened her eyes. "Henry, Daniel," She sobbed. "Even you,"

"Hey," He shuffled closer, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm never going anywhere, you know that."

"That's not the point, David."

"Well, maybe we should focus on you." He gripped her hand a little tighter, pulling it into his lap. "I know you're not happy."

"What clued you in, Sherlock?"

David gave her a reproachful look and Regina glanced away with a smirk. "I don't like seeing you like this, Reg. I don't like walking into your dressing room when you're half-baked and so drunk you can't see, right before we go on stage." He guided her eyes back to him with his finger curled gently under her chin. Tears shone in her eyes but she didn't let them fall. "You have a wonderful talent, Regina and I don't want to walk into that room one day and find you in a state we can't come back from."

"David I,"

"No," He cut her off. "Before you tell me we're not there yet I want to make something perfectly clear." He bopped her nose. "I love you, Regina," She smiled shakily. "I always have and you know, I always will. So I don't want to lose you to this. You know we're there; we've been there for quite some time."

Regina's eyes dropped to their hands and she breathed out, ignoring the lone tear that trickled down her cheek.

"What do I do?"

Leaning over, David pressed his lips to her temple and she could feel the corners of his smile against her hairline. His breath on her face was warm as he spoke, so quietly and gently. "You ask for help."

"David,"

"All you have to do is ask, Regina."

She looked up at him with eyes that had turned red and puffy from a mix of tears and chardonnay that was too expensive to be drinking alone on a rusted old fire-escape and she let out a sudden, shuddering sob.

"Help me."

To Be Continued.


End file.
